Has Hollywood Run Out of Ideas?

Marvel has once again taken the world by storm with the release of the first teaser for
next year’s Avengers: Doomsday. And, surprise — another beloved character whose
story was already neatly concluded is coming back to share the screen with an already
overstuffed cast. Captain America is back. Or rather, Steve Rogers is back. The internet
is losing its mind, discussions are everywhere, and cinemas will almost certainly be
packed for the next grand assembly of the most popular superheroes of the 21st
century. Everyone seems happy, and another two-billion-dollar box-office theme park
ride is practically guaranteed.

So, where’s the problem?

I’ll get back to that.

Hollywood has never really been the primary destination for cinephiles seeking
thoughtful, challenging entertainment. That’s not meant as an insult to the people who
work there, nor to those who enjoy Hollywood films. There are still excellent directors
working within the system, and every year we do get a handful of genuinely good
movies. But as the saying goes, one swallow does not make a spring. The hard truth is
that the film industry — especially Hollywood — is, first and foremost, a business. The
single most important goal for studios and producers is profit.
In theory, we could simply accept this reality and enjoy whatever comes our way. After
all, no one is forcing us to watch movies we don’t like. But it’s not that simple. Humans
have brains, and more importantly, we have emotions. Those emotions demand
expression, and arguably the most powerful way to express them is through art.
Art can be anything. It is the ability to shape thoughts and emotions, give them
meaning, and communicate them to others. It is the act of creating something out of
nothing — something that can push barriers, reach unreachable heights and echo
through eternity. Art has evolved alongside us as a species. Today, we live in an era
where art is more accessible than ever before. Museums, theaters, galleries, libraries,
and cinemas are everywhere. We are surrounded by creative works, able to approach
them from countless perspectives — or, perhaps more accurately, to consume them.
What’s more, we don’t even have to think very hard about what they mean. We can
simply Google an explanation, read a summary, or ask our favorite AI assistant, then
move on to the next thing. Or, rather, the next product. Those two words — consume
and product — are crucial here.
So what happens when art becomes easily accessible, endlessly reproducible, and fully
monetized? The solution, it seems, is simple: make it palatable to everyone. Strip away
the rough edges. Apply some makeup. Dress it nicely. Set a price. Sell it to the masses.

Create something that looks good, offends no one, and leaves people wanting more.
This, essentially, is how Hollywood’s machine works — though the prices, both financial
and artistic, are becoming harder to justify.
For decades, this system has glued audiences to screens and kept them there. And if
everyone is happy, what’s the issue? The issue is that humans notice patterns. We ask
questions. And once we start doing that, we begin to see the cracks. This is the first
step toward breaking free from the cycle of mediocrity.
I’ll put the philosophy aside for a moment.
At the time of writing this, my local cinema is showing twelve films. That sounds
promising — a sign of variety and global connection. But look closer: nine of those films
are sequels, remakes, or sequels to remakes. Two are animated Christmas movies
aimed at children. Only one is a standalone, non-remake title, and even that is an
adaptation of a book. Aside from the children’s films, there are zero original stories
playing in my cinema right now.

That is a problem.

Have humans suddenly lost the ability to tell new stories? Highly unlikely. Some argue
that all stories have already been told and that everything else is merely a remix. I don’t
buy that. All one has to do is look beyond Hollywood — toward European cinema,
Korean arthouse films, or Japanese anime — to find bold, original ideas that challenge
conventions and expand our understanding of storytelling. But as Hollywood dominates
our screens and our cultural conversation, this is the hill where I’m fighting today.
So, has Hollywood lost the ability — or perhaps the willingness — to create original
films?
The past decade has been a museum of remakes, reboots, sequels, legacy sequels,
soft reboots, spin-offs, prequels, midquels, and “reimaginings.” Beloved intellectual
properties from the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s have been endlessly revived. Some
efforts worked — Top Gun: Maverick being a notable success. Others resulted in
bloated franchises, like Avatar suddenly turning into a multi-decade saga. Then there
are the Star Wars sequels and spin-offs, Disney’s live-action remakes of their animated
classics, Lord of the Rings expansions, Rocky spin-offs, and revivals of Mad Max, Blade
Runner, Ghostbusters, Halloween, Jurassic Park, and countless others.
Some of these projects are harmless, even enjoyable. But the problem arises when
stories that already had meaningful, definitive endings are dragged back from the grave
purely for nostalgia and profit. In the worst cases, these sequels are so disrespectful to
what came before that they actively damage the legacy of the original works.

At what point does someone tell James Cameron that Sarah and John Connor saved
the world in 1992 and that we don’t need more Terminator films? Or tell Ridley Scott that
Gladiator was a standalone story with a perfect ending? Or Warner Bros that Harry
Potter is far too recent — and far too beloved — to justify a reboot when not even a
generation has passed?
The idea of a shared cinematic universe was exciting in 2012 when The Avengers first
assembled. But not every movie or TV show needs to exist solely to set up another
movie or show. Too often, storytelling is sacrificed in favor of “world-building,” leaving us
with hollow products designed to point toward the next release instead of standing on
their own.
Which brings us to Marvel — the archetype and blueprint for modern Hollywood, as it
will be used further in the text.
After Avengers: Endgame, which served as a natural conclusion for many characters
and arguably the franchise itself, Marvel struggled to find direction. A series of half-
baked films and poorly received TV shows followed, along with behind-the-scenes
chaos. Desperate to recapture the magic of 2012–2019, the studio reached for the most
reliable tool it has left: nostalgia.
Now we’re on the verge of Avengers: Doomsday. Probably the biggest movie to date,
which one might think it’s more of a reaction to everything instead of a celebration of the
new era of superhero characters and movies. Robert Downey Jr. is back — not as Tony
Stark, but as Doctor Doom. Chris Evans returns as Steve Rogers. Patrick Stewart
reprises his role as Professor X, despite the character having died multiple times
already. Rumors suggest the return of Hugh Jackman, Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield
— everyone, everywhere, all at once.
All the dead characters. All the retired ones. The forgotten. The canceled. The
concluded.

What are we doing?

Nostalgia is a powerful drug, and an even more powerful business strategy. But is
nothing sacred anymore? We watched Tony Stark sacrifice his life. We watched Steve
Rogers finally choose himself over others. We watched Wolverine die to protect the next
generation. These moments mattered. We felt them. We cried. They felt real — like
saying goodbye to friends or family.
And now we’re told it doesn’t matter.
“Oh, it’s not the same character.”
It doesn’t matter.

Corporate greed is the death of storytelling. This endless resurrection of completed arcs
feels desperate, cynical, and exhausting. And the worst part? It will probably work.
Audiences will cheer when a legacy character appears out of nowhere to deus ex-
machina a situation, erasing years of development with a cheap dopamine hit.
And maybe that’s the point.
Movies have become content. Art has become a product. And the message is clear:
don’t think, don’t question — just consume.